Hare

Good New Year to all.  

We've been enjoying Reservation Dogs this week. I love shows and stories that force me to abandon my cultural assumptions. Bury Me Standing and Atanarjuat The Fast Runner are two more. And this video about the issues of Black Hair. 

 I've got my own issues around 

Hair

I Got Tears in my Ears from lying on my back in my bed while I cry over you, might be this year's theme song.  Rabbits and ears and tears. 

Chats

Never have we been so happy to scoop turds. Well shat, chats. Eleanor getting a little used to the food change, as well as playing more. I think this is because - usually, they'd gotten into the habit of chasing around each other. Eleanor still being sweet to Moby, and he's been accepting. He spent a good bit of time outside in the sunshine, watching birds, today. Brushing not going as well, but I'm doing what I can.
Already, with the all wet/all meat diet, he's starting to lose that frightening thinness so obvious right after the many enema day. Nothing as awful as a Many Enema Day.



Eleanor eats, Moby watches. "G'head, 'sgood stuff." He assures her.

This crisis seems to have solidified their relationship in some human indefinable way. They, presumably, understand it.

Still feeling worn from the past week. Reading more Rex Stout, which pleases me. Working three solid* days yet, before the holiday. My favorite holiday. Thanksgiving has few lasting resonances from bad times. It's all new to Us, and this year especially. Dylan's folks are out to CA to spend it with second-newest grandson, and son and DIL incidentally. I told Dylan this† would work out well for us. Not that he didn't believe me, but it's always nice to have proof.

Helped a dog today, walking past taking groceries home, black lab dragging a leash, spotted Owner/Guy behind him. So, I let Dog come to me to be petted, incidentally trod on his leash. Guy thanks me profusely, not letting Dog run out onto a busy street. Guy smart enough not to run and chase Dog (who would gladly have Run and played Chase!) Friendly moment for all concerned, instead.

And I now know this is the Way. Compromise, friendliness, calm, acceptance, all the trite words that describe Grande Compassion That Heals All Wounds. So simple, so difficult(for most of us. Me especially.)

Not that it saves us from grief, death, suffering, only that we know none of that really matters. We live our own lives, and we are all one life.

Christmas Lights up in the Trader Joe's (and ACE Harware, Staples, Paradise Bakery) parking lot. I looked at that, half heartedly complained about the pushing of the Shopping Season, and Dylan says, "I just don't have the energy to hate it anymore." I agreed, and decided it was Japanese Christmas! Nothing to do with the christian/European holiday/Yuletide thingy. This made both of us feel so much better. The Red Green Season. Nothing to be concerned about. Irrelevant, festive, commercial, abstract.


*Ten hour shifts. At least.
†Having two new babies from his brothers in the past two years. Ok, well, our SILs, technically.


ps:
Science tackles what is Stupid.

Watching Gold Diggers of 1933. First shown it on laserdisc by an acquaintance in high school. Can't remember who. But I fell in love with pre-code movies, and Dick Powell, Ruby Keeler, and Joan Blondell right then.

Idling

The last two days were not difficult, not really. Worked hard, busy days, but why the very idea of stopping by here and leaving a few words repelled me, I can't explain.

Finished Cleese's "So, Anyway... " which was funny and interesting right to the end. Then found an interview with him and Eric Idle.

Apparently, I needed a vacation, which hey, lookie there, I'm getting. Five days off in a tidy row.

I have a small duck to roast, today. My first attempt. My mother occasionally cooked a duck, and I always loved it, with my preference for dark meat, and dislike of white. I've looked up a score of recipes online, so I have a sense of what not to do. D does not like dark meat at all, so this is self indulgence. I felt a bit guilty, it was not cheap, but the cats will no doubt appreciate the results with me.

Growing up without Thanksgiving as anything much, was nice. I got up, watched the parade, ate dry cereal, napped, read, made myself a pb'nj sandwich for lunch, and probably dinner too. I can't remember my father losing his shit on that day, he mostly slept on the couch. No celebrating, no cooking (except for oneself), no expectations. Some years they took me to the parade, which might be why I remember him sleeping so much later in the day. Detroit does not have pleasant weather at that time of year, not as I remember it anyway.

In college, I'd volunteered to work on the Hudson's parade, wore inadequate clothing for the weather, got up at what felt like an inhuman hour (I get up earlier most days now) to load papier mache heads and costumes, push floats and flowers around in a freezing warehouse. Fed at a ancient diner with a heavy, but hot and welcome breakfast (a totally new experience for me) I walked the route. I was supposed to help stow it all for the next season, but I bailed because I couldn't stop shivering, nor feel my hands, nor ears. Guy I'd started dating stopped by, and was incredulous that I hadn't even planned on cooking something, even if not a full turkey-centric spread. (Why I didn't see that as a huge, waving, sparkly, neon red flag is beyond me.) I hunkered down to hot tea and cereal and a heating pad and ignored the snit.

I only really celebrated it as an adult, starting 24 years ago. So much to be thankful for, it's a very personal holiday. We'd just gotten our activation orders, and were allowed Thanksgiving Day off to be with family. Friends invited me to their home, D of course with his family. We were not a couple yet, although we both harbored hopes. So the next year, we celebrated. When friends moved away, coming back for family holidays, we hosted on the Friday after. That was the day we finally had our wedding reception, seven years after the technical wedding. I cooked for D's parents on the day several times, even in tiny apartments, stuffing them with all the foods I could manage. I'd get a turkey roll, or made it vegetarian, to make D's brother at home, with just a bit of chicken for the obligate carnivores.

No gifts, and at least for me, no obligation, especially not to any other traditions than the ones we have nurtured. To be grateful. To make an effort to connect and include.


Food as gratitude.

Nice

All went very nicely. Moby his usual social host self. He even allowed D's parents to sit on the sofa either side of him for a while, then prowled, then climbed up to his Fortress of Solitude. Given he'd been up since we got up at 5, active for about seven hours straight, he needed some good catsleep. He's still there.

I'm no natural cook, but I am a well trained nurse, so I know to start here, and do everything in front of me until done. I can be frighteningly organized, this time I used the whiteboard on the fridge to make sure I cooked and served everything I planned. Well, in a small kitchen, it's a requirement. Mostly all turned out pretty good, although the turkey was a bit tough, as turkey often is no matter what. And the broiled pineapple did not cook through as I'd hoped - but not expected. Yams were tasty, cranberry sauce as good as always. D's dad very happy with artichoke hearts - gotten especially for him. D's mom seemed to relish the pumpkin scones, D ate a lot of olives, I felt better after chips and con queso from Red Iguana (picked up yesterday.) Green beans got over cooked, but still edible.

We walked over to the Potential House, yes we live that close to it, and it still looks good. A mild day, a chance to stretch our legs. We can see all the flaws, and they are all minor. Enough, though, that if it doesn't work out, we can focus on the drawbacks to console ourselves. Either way, we wait patiently. We are craving space so deeply, though. One way or another, this is going to be a hard year, waiting or moving.

I cleaned up after we got back, which is the good part of this kitchen, I can stay in the conversation while putting stuff away. Used every single container for leftovers we have. I just really did not want to have to scrub crud later. Neither did I want to abandon guests for the sake of a clean kitchen, I'm no Martha*. I tried to balance the two. MIL of course offered to help, and I welcomed her, but with a tiny kitchen, there was nothing she could do. Funny, how none of it seemed like work, just things to do. I wonder how much of that is just the change in my attitude over the past couple of years. Simply not letting routine bother me. Or anything else, really.

The other great part about this holiday? I get two days off, then the weekend, standard. Even when I worked call and holidays, this was usually a good long weekend, with maybe a few hours of call on a day when the surgeons were reluctant to schedule anything non-life threatening during the football. A good weekend to have an anniversary, as well. We get very squishy. We get enough rest.




*Luke 10:38-42. Yes, I do know my bible stories. I just don't take them literally. Nor particularly seriously.

Appreciation

Thanksgiving is such an atypical, even Un-American holiday in so many ways. Oh, yes, the religious under- and overtones, the excessive eating, paired with football and parades, all that fits. Its manipulation by commercial interests to stimulate consumer spending, yes, essential to this culture. But it's largely hoopla that can be ignored, evidenced by Buy Nothing Day.

Beneath it, stripped of the stereotypes and media screed, it's about being grateful. Right at the core, it's about gathering with people one loves and appreciating what one has. At heart, it isn't religious, needs no gods, only a decent meal of fowl and mostly vegetables, traditionally. There are no flags to fly, no presents to buy, no decorations necessary - a simple harvest festival. Anyone can join in, there are no songs, no rituals. None aside from those unique to each family.

Every day I strive to be thankful. Especially today, every thought, every breath, and with my whole heart I walk in thankfulness. How'd I ever get so lucky?

To all of you who read here, leaving me friendly notes -- thank you for necessary balance, a voice back from the ether, friendship and kindness. I would not be the same without you.

Schedule

Early this morning, my hands on my abdomen, cat standing on the backs of my hands, I was aware it was very early, and I did not have to get up. Called off, but asked to cover my usual day off tomorrow, an easy swap. Went in at 10, though, to do the schedule for the next month or so. Took me an hour. Better than having to ever be in charge. I'd be no good at that, I get up noses when I fill authorities shoes, and that's fine. So, I agreed a while back to do the vacation schedule, to varying results. Re-templated it, so it's easier to read, put it in a nice binder, with the holiday schedule attached. But I have to be more than careful to not screw up the numbers. One of the charge nurses has given me crap over my mistakes, some trivial, some larger. Something like this needs a second set of eyes, without harassment, but I do what I can. Everything is a trade off.

Not eager to get to the necessary cleaning for having the holiday dinner here, but I got there eventually. More or less. Thankfully, my MIL's sense of what is clean was probably worn down having five boys, so I don't feel self conscious as long as it's pretty good. For our friend Dave, I work to a higher standard, because although he'd never say anything, I know how clean he keeps his house. Dave is busy with his own kin this holiday. We'll see him later.

I've been pondering Thanksgiving, as I often do this time of year. It's a holiday without baggage for me, no family tradition, no religious significance. My mother declared it the day she did NOT cook, everyone took care of their own food that day, I usually had PB&J - no sacrifice. Watched the parade on TV in the morning, probably read the rest of the day, or watched whatever was on the CBC (anything not football, my father for all his faults, was no sports fan - I have some recollection of him asleep on the sofa.) The ex expected me to give him a traditional meal, which never quite happened, but that was only six years, and never stuck.

Twenty-one years ago, I spent Thanksgiving with friends, knowing I was shipping out the weekend following, and D with his parents. From that day on, we have been together, with much to be thankful for. The holiday became entwined with us, our beginnings and continuations, and hopefully our endings. We had our reception the Friday after Thanksgiving, a day when friends in town could beg off from the family they came to visit.

Cleaned the fridge, the kitchen, ready to cook in. Yams ready to be mashed, they can sit in their skins a day. Turkey to start thawing in the morning.

As for the house, I do not have my heart set on it, and I'm not in love. But it's all I have to focus on. I have, with reluctance, vetoed D's preference for a condo, in favor of my need for a garden. I dream of growing cayenne and ginger, roma tomatoes and rhubarb, peas and green beans, long grass for Moby, rosemary and parsley, red peppers and sun flowers. A mulch pile. And space to hang clothes to dry. And D smiles and says he knows.

Enough reason to make a day for gratitude. Hell, a whole week is insufficient.



After so long, he knows me pretty well, but never assumes he does.

Crash

Crashed early last night, out like the proverbial light at 1930. Dreamed I was interviewing Bruce Campbell, checked the clock at 2345, otherwise, all deep, dank sleep. One long, if short, day, working with a very good scrub, if a particularly concentratedly poisonous surgeon. Still, it all worked out, eventually. And we got to start the long weekend a bit early.

I've never been one to celebrate Memorial nor Labor days. Not from a family of barbequers, not from genetics nor marriage. Just a paid day off, or a day on call. What does one do to celebrate death in war? How to have a 'happy hopeless attempts' to check the abuses of big business (only to replace it with an additional layer of bureaucracy connected to organized crime)? Worthy enough of a national day, but celebration? Hard to wrangle that around my head. Even growing up in a union town like Detroit. I believe in unions, a very important step toward worker safety and decency. I've done the army, my remains will eventually like in the veteran's section of a cemetery somewhere, and I'm fine with that. It all seems so, well, either sad or utilitarian.

Nevertheless, I will enjoy my day off, never taking for granted my lack of call shifts, or holiday coverage, for the first stretch in a very long time.

Bucket

"Do you know what I miss about Easter observances, growing up Catholic?"
"No, what do you miss?"
"Nothing. Nothing at all."

I think the chocolate bunny, malted milk egg candies, were all just rewards for enduring Holy Week. And it is grueling, done properly. Every day in church, Palm Sunday to Easter Sunday, hard benches, pews, endless services, some at school - since I went to catholic school as well. I felt the words, the dogmatism of the words that choked me. Couldn't shut off my ears. I did not feel good about this, as saints were the epitome of being a good child, and they all loved the mass. At least in their stories. I found mass to be a trial, a misery. It was a lesson in self discipline, patience, and critical listening - worthy skills. I got that out of it not because that was the point, but because I pulled that out of the experience.

My mother put me in pastels, which I detested at the best of times, and the shoes always hurt. The hats were good, though. I've always liked hats. Often, in Detroit, Easter was not warm, and frilly clothes were inadequate for a raw, even snowy, day.

Oddly, or maybe not so much, Holy Saturday, a day of mourning, of death, of defeat, even with it's long service with the litany of the saints, call and response service - not a mass - sit, stand, kneel, sit, repeat, wasn't so bad. I respected the acknowledgment of death. Just as the vigil service, lighting the new fire, candles, ancient hymns (especially after I was in the choir) resonated, even though it all went on way too long. I got it when my childhood religion dealt head on with death and loss, Ash Wednesday, Holy Saturday, though I was not comforted with the idea of resurrection. I preferred the idea of reincarnation, and eventually came to like the idea of Nirvana. Although I now, I'm good with dead is dead, and now is life - better live well.

I never bought the idea of one person, one man, even if he was God's son, having to get tortured and killed, as a way to save souls from hell. What about all those who came before? All the other religions with different ideas about what happens after death? It was all so far fetched, so much had to be taken on a faith I never had. Once I started hearing other myths, it seemed obvious the christian story was one more.

The reward for a life well lived, is a well lived life. To want more is greedy and ungracious.

But, have a chocolate bunny, and eat the ears first.



Why contort oneself to drink out of the bucket? Why not?

Moments

I have written my friend a chatty, funny email, that if she takes offense at, means there's no hope, but if she laughs, will bring us back to our great love for each other. I wait in hope.

Still a bit upset at an altercation* at the library last week, wary of going back, tomorrow. IF they are open on Boxing Day. One year (the Great Boxing Day Blizzard of Aught Three) we sheltered there when the storms took our heat and light, and internet connection. (See photos, above.) Warmed and read email, and returned home, power restored shortly after.

At any rate, *idiot assaulted us with demands for "Knowing how to say hi" when we did not know him, and tried to pick a fight with us. Security alerted shortly after, and they will deal. I would have hit him with my umbrella, if shooing him away had not worked.

Hoping old friend will see humor. Going to be a friend no matter what. We all have Our Little Moments.* Next Letter to fairygoddaughter tomorrow. F.



Gave Red Iguana Chili sauces to D's parents, who were happy thereby, (went by for lunch, and take-out yesterday) and accepted Red Iguana gift certificate from them today. Ironic, and funny. At our urging, they decided to be Selfish, and save queso and verde for tomorrow. Good for them. Hot (spicy) food brings joy all around. SIL and BIL gave us toy for Moby, as we gave them one for their cat last year. An Acceptable Gift. Except that Moby is skittish about the sounds it makes. Maybe tomorrow he'll feel differently.

*See Stanley from Going Postal, raised by Peas. (Known for thoroughness.)

Offerings

Made it through yesterday, despite Dr. Crankypants. With the help of E the Great Scrub (no sarcasm, a lovely, bright, capable young man) who rolled with the changes. Picked up a case with Dr. Gentle German at his request because of a time gap, traded for a Dr. Jumpy case to another room, and all wound up finishing about the same time, but with good feelings and no sense of rush in our room.

Jaw aching, bad taste and raw spots in my mouth. At work, knowing I would have to remove the retainer and brush my teeth each time made it easy to resist the plethora of treats in the breakroom. (No challenge from the enormous chocolate cake, because I love chocolate, and there is a difference between love, and porn. That cake was pornographic, not lovable.)

Got home worn and edgy, D coughing and ill himself, we hunkered down together in front of twinkly lights. Crawled to bed already asleep. Heard D say something, could hear it clearly, but it made no sense, like he spoke in another language. I've told him not to speak Greek to me anymore, he's agreed. Intermittent sleep for both of us, but lasting. Moby insistent we get up at 0730, purring, walking on us, nosing our faces, repeatedly.

"I know you're awake. Get up."

Made hot wheat cereal as the sun turned the black to a textured grey. D cooked sausages later, when the timidly strengthening light padded in. Both feeing nourished, dare I say, cheered? Just a little, but it's enough.

Picking up food offerings from Red Iguana to take to D's folks tomorrow, Salsa Verde and an order of Con Queso, which I know makes no linguistic sense, but there you go. And have lunch there, since, well we're going to be there anyway, right? Pick up the adequate ginger ale (since Stewart's stopped making their wonderful stuff) for D's sore throat, and some grass for Moby. Nothing frantic, just odds and ends. Turkey roll defrosting for us to cook tomorrow evening.

Down to one hand, as cat has me on tum scritching duty. Be of good cheer, it helps.



Check out this 1925 Christmas Party photo over at Shorpy, it's a humdinger.

Santa

HE ATE SANTA!



Tree is without blue or silver, as much as possible. The warmer array seems to be helping both of us.

Here, this song has been going through my head today.

Find more artists like Wait A Minim! at Myspace Music

From here*.



*Which I know of because of the ex, who did, give the devil his due, have good taste in music.

Lights

I don't know the attribution of this. I use it as a random desktop image.


After the dentist, D for a cleaning, me for an x-ray and exam, we drove up the canyon to Ruth's Diner for a huge breakfast of biscuits and protein with a dash of cholula. Lip is still numb and lumpy, teeth are proven alive and a bit pushed in. I'm trying to push them out myself, with remarkable, if not complete, success. Still, anything about messing with one's teeth is disturbing. Despite all the country holiday music (that our otherwise excellent dentist plays), the last tune we heard was Linus and Lucy, still easily the coolest Christmas standard.

Being over emotional about losses, these days. Sad and lonely, and nothing to be done about it.

Not into any part of this holiday, money tight - as per. Not into the religious side, and my dabblings on the outskirts of new age mysticism have faded into non-existance this year. Friends fallen away, with the implications that I am a poor friend anyway.

Don't like presents, the only exception being the rare and elusive Perfect one, that comes stealthily from an unexpected corner. As happened this year, in the form of a round, blue box, returning my own pottery reincarnated and more beautiful. D's stainless steel bowl set, our first Festivus back, a test - that he cared more about giving me what I needed than his own desire to give something fun. Proven. Still have them, they are still used often, I never floated a "test present request" ever again. A rubbery, green gel buddha when I was a kid, nothing I would have asked for, but I adored it. I believe it was a stocking present, from "Santa." An afterthought from my mother, then. Who knew?

Maybe on the solstice, I'll get the tree and some lights up, not because I feel like it, but because it will help us feel better. Like smiling, not because it just happens, but because it helps. After the new year, I need to concentrate on a project, volunteer, or take a class, or something. Anything. Being sad is a bad habit, no matter how justified. A positive feedback loop that destroys itself. Self destruction is easy, and unworthy, on any scale.

Curse the darkness, sure. But I'll light some candles, and some sparkly lights as well. No reason not to do both.

Gracias

Thanksgiving was not a holiday in my childhood. It was the day mom declared she did not cook, everyone fended for themselves, after watching the parade on TV. It was her declaration of Canadian-ness, since that was not a holiday she grew up with, even the Canadian version. She cooked big meals with family over for Easter, Christmas, New Year, birthdays, even Mother's Day when we didn't spend it on the road visiting both grandmothers. Thanksgiving held no official place in the Catholic calendar, either. This was always fine with me, it was usually a mellow day. Even on the occasions when we braved the cold to see the parade in person, with cocoa in a thermos, and came home to warm up and nap. And not have to spend any of that time on hard pews.

Twenty years ago, I spent the holiday with friends, knowing I was being shipped off to Gulf War I a few days later. There is the time before then, and my life since then, neatly bisected, if not evenly. The best bits have all been since then. Because every day since has been with D. And I'll take the hardest moments with him over any good moments without him. And every Thanksgiving since has been with him, and his family.

For the last twenty years, D and I have been together, the odd day when out of town we at least spoke to each other. The actual anniversary we count as the Friday after Thanksgiving. That year, 1990, we got home in May, moved in together the next year in July '92. Thanksgiving of '93, D's parents still not happy that we'd deferred a wedding, not at all getting that we felt perfectly happy with being common-law married.

So, that Thanksgiving Day, in their living room, D's dad looked at us and said, "Ten minutes in the bishop's office, make us happy." And then, the clincher, "We'll pay for the license." D looks at me and says, "What do you think?" Since I'd already proposed to him the week we moved in together, and he was in no way ready, I was not going to take a proposal from his father. So I dragged him off to the den in his parent's basement, and we talked about marriage, and weddings, and he actually knelt in front of me, and we agreed this was a good idea. I wanted to be sure he wanted this, for himself, no pressure, a chance for him to hold at 'no,' or at least, 'not yet.' He assured me that he did want to marry me, as long as it wasn't going to be A Wedding!

Not having to worry about the cost of the license helped. I already had a plane ticket to visit my parents right after finals, so we decided on the day before, December 15. (For many years we struggled to remember that date.) We got the license, D got his suit pressed, I had my blue dress ready.

Coming off finals and the flu, still ill and feverish, we drove to his parent's house.

D's parents made his three brothers at home put on ties and sit on the couch, D's mum made an angel food cake and had balloons. We gave our formal vows, already having lived by the ones we found most meaningful for three years before, and signed the legal papers. The LDS bishop said magic words over us, off the cuff, as per. Including a lot of stuff about being faithful to each other, which confused me, and had D wanting to say "Buddy, you got something to say, just say it, or we can take this outside!" The bishop also kept trying to get us to face the family, with his back to them, rather than all of us with our sides to the sofa. He failed. We were back home within two hours.

Our friend Dusty told us, "Congratulations on your capitulation!" We took it as the perfect response. I went back to class in January and told people we'd gotten married, which shocked, I'm still not clear why. Our friends who were a bit hurt at not being invited ("No one was invited...") brought forth our apologies. We resolved to have a reception for friends when we could afford it. Three years later, we did.

This is the wedding I think of as perfect, nonpareil, a paragon to compare against all other weddings. Because I felt no qualm, not a moment's hesitation, at vowing to spend my life beside this lovely human being. I knew what wrong felt like, this was everything else.

Last night, D turned to me and says, "In two weeks, we will be at 20 years!" This feels very good indeed, textured, nuanced, joyous. We could not call any part of our relationship "rocky." The rough spots have pretty much been external, or directly attributable to D's ADD, and my behaviour exacerbating the symptoms. We just get on, always have. We pour our hearts into our lives together, and both feel beloved. Astonishing to both of us that we've done so well, created such peace together.

A whole holiday to express the overwhelming gratitude at finding each other. And the bottomless well of gratitude to each other.

I'll be making cranberry sauce to bring there this year, my usual.

Scary

I'd like to wear a costume, but as usual, no place to share it. So, harummphf. Did put up this figure for the balcony. Never hang yourself in a public place near Halloween, people will just think you are a decoration. Why do I find this idea so deep, dark funny? (Another incident this year, too.)


Years ago, working at the Library. Early, took the staff elevator, to a non-public area, and as the door opened, a body lay face down on the floor. A breath-space of deep panic at the corpse, until my rational mind sent in word that it was a dummy, it was Halloween, bring down the adrenaline levels. Laughed in panicked relief. Not even hands or feet, just clothes stuffed, can't remember what the head was, if any. My favorite Halloween prank, no idea who did it. Still want to do it at work, one year. Oh, yes. Maybe next year, it'll be a Tuesday, perfect.



Unlike my young self, I have few real fears. I'm more annoyed by the challenges of aging, the degradation of my strength. How much I look like my mother, aunts and older female cousins. Still, not so bad. At least I didn't get in line for the alopecia gene. Which is about as bad as it gets among my close relations*. Not much to fear there, really.

Never a fan of horror movies, although the music scared me as a kid. (Oooo, that theremin!) Eyes and skulls freaked me out, but not anymore. I've held patients while a surgeon numbed up the eye, and it turned out not to bother me at all. Horror movies got nothing on my regular job. Movie blood doesn't act like the real thing at all, destroying the illusion. The Last Wave is the one film that could no doubt still give me the heebie jeebies, and that's all suggestion and shadows. Scary movies, are, for me, not scary at all. Annoying, silly, occasionally startling, but no longer nightmare fuel. The gore is just gross, the violence just revolting, none of it touching on my fears.



Clouds roiling in, the air still mild. We took a short walk. Out to dinner later with D's brother and parents, they didn't want to be home for the trick-or-treaters this year.

A custom long dying out. I still remember my Casper the Friendly Ghost costume, I was probably 3 or 4, old enough to pick it out, and more or less understand. Went to just a few houses in my aunt's neighborhood, then stopped at her house for the evening. I'm sure I wore it the next year as well, and the body of the costume as a nightgown for a very long time. In my neighborhood, fewer and fewer houses, and children, each year. Parties took over, and much later, school events. I feel a bit sorry that young children no longer get one night a year to run amok in the dark.




*One aunt died of breast cancer, but I always assumed it was due to the nasty chemicals she was exposed to as a beautician from the 1930s onward. A hazard that continues. (I find it horrible that these products aren't properly regulated, or banned. Talk about scary.)

Tones

We actually got out and did something for the Independence Day holiday (at least according to those snobby easterners, here Pioneer Day on the 24 th is when the real festivities occur.) Every Sunday there is a People's Market in a park not so far away, but in an area where we rarely, perhaps never, go. Even D, who grew up hereabouts, figured he'd never been there, and did not remember Jordan Park. The Market was slow setting up, a few garden vegetables, lots of tie-dye and soaps and beaded jewelry kiosks, Hmong sarongs, and a couple with impressive wooden bowls and little boxes. Instead of just standing around, we went through the Peace Gardens. It had the earnestly amateurish, and long neglected look of Cold War home-made hope. Flags flew and the grounds were maintained and clean, but many of the little plaques and displays were broken or missing. No fountains burbled, stream beds and ponds held only weeds and ancient blue paint. Kitsch abounded, sadly lacking my camera I called sour grapes on the dull, diffuse light. We'll go back on another day, with better lighting, and bring back images. All very funny and only a little sad.

A guy in full leathers slowly drove his Harley past the No Unauthorized Vehicle sign, with two women and a guy with a tripod walking behind him. We were annoyed at the noise and gas smells, until he stopped up on the faux Japanese bridge among the trees, shut off the engine, and the younger woman got on behind him. Then the photographer set up, and we knew. We'd seen this before. On D's oldest brother's wedding invitations. (Not the one whose wedding we are going to soon.) Yup, cheesy photos for a wedding invite. All our annoyance washed away in mirthful mockery, kept between us. I can think two hefty Harley riders are silly, but I'm not so stupid as to laugh at them where they can hear. And they presumably did get permission, since there were some park people there watching them.

Bought a little wooden... thing. It's very good at holding a couple of cookies. Probably spoons as well.



Had to leave because there was a decent guitar player with a dreadful singing voice. Like Neil Young, but utterly tone deaf and very loud.

In the British plot, a bust of Margaret Thatcher. Go figure.

Grace

A bit of necessary set up. I married into a Mormon family. D's parents are good folks, although they do have a few peculiarities concerning their faith. I was raised to say grace before every meal, they say a blessing. Or rather, one of them extemporizes a blessing, or dad assigns the blessing to an individual when the extended family is present. The LDS church has no professional clergy, and amateur speechifying is the norm. In my limited experience, painfully so.

Almost 19 years ago, when I first began going to holiday meals with the 'rentsinlaw, I dreaded the possibility of being asked to perform this, but decided I would simply give the catholic grace. Thing is, it never happened. Sometime in the last decade or more, I assumed that was off the table, and forgot my early fallback.

Grace in my original family was a participation ritual, murmured fairly quickly in unison. I heard it, more or less, thusly "blessesolord, antheezigfs, whicheeraboutoreceev, fromeyebuntytokrice, hourlower, AMEN." Rote prayer, but I got that gratitude for food was important, and I love the practice of thankfulness.

Easter Sunday, we sit to eat with D and his parents, a brother and his wife, and D's dad turns to me and says "Will you say the blessing." (Note lack of question mark.) I said "I'd prefer not." He went very quiet, and I turned to him and gently said "I'm sorry, but I'd prefer not." He turned to D, who gave the expected, and expected-sort of blessing, in shortest possible form. I thought then about saying grace, but it was too late. Plus, he'll never ask me that again. And then, I forgot.

Twelve hours later, I woke, and thought, what did I do? And why didn't my gut clench and my adrenaline gush, as it once certainly would have? I serenely performed the right action, how did I do that? Because saying that old prayer, while socially appropriate, would imply that I still believe in that religion, to people who take that sort of thing very seriously. Keeping my views respectfully private is not the same as telling an outright lie. I don't mind that I was, eventually, asked, however strangely out of the blue, but I am dumbfounded that I so instinctively reacted in a way that expressed my integrity.

But then, I do have a reflexive NO when pressed. So much easier to delay with a no, think about it, and turn it to a yes. Much harder the other way. Caught off guard, I will back off, turn away, demand time to think. Typical mark of a writer. I think slow, but I think deep.

Or maybe, I had a moment of Grace.

Costume

Actually, I rather like getting up in a good costume. But then there has to be a place to go. Don't got one of them. So Halloween slips by again. Particularly, as this year, when it falls on a Saturday.

In childhood, I mostly did witches and ghosts, colonial, and the odd princess, once the Carol Burnett washerwoman - mom's idea, but I was cool with it. Was a stage once, with a box covered in crepe paper around my head and shoulders, a working curtain over the front opening, and a puppet to hold the bag. My favorite by far. Rather cozy on a late October Detroit night. Very traditional trick-or-treating around the block, most of which gave out candy. Never felt afraid that night, despite the dark, perhaps just because everyone was out. Friendly atmosphere. Being alone in the dark is much more frightening.

I've since been a Refugee from a Sleep Lab, in pjs with wires stuck to my head. A fortune teller, with all my bellydance gear on. And a ghost samurai, with my hakama from when I took naginata, my hair made all white. Oh, and I had a second hand sheath dress, black, coupled with a black veil, and I went as the Widow Jackie. Mostly my own clothes, themed to suit. In the OR, temporary tattoos on my throat. I'd like to do more, but there is so little point.

There were a group of half a dozen young folks in black spandex pants, spike hair, chains, high tops, hanging near the grocery store entrance. I was a bit afraid to go past them, such extreme punk is pretty rare, and very hard core, until I remembered what day it is. They pulled it off very well, almost as if they are punks, and went retro for today. Spoke to a few in passing, seemed like a nice bunch.

A physical therapist last year put his long hair in a french braid, with ribbon, shaved his mustache, wore a pastel flowered long sleeve dress with lace collar and cuffs. He was a Mormon Sister Wife. Very believable, until you really looked at his face. In this state, understood immediately.

I never go as a nurse, or a soldier.

Really mind the "Sexy (Occupation)" costumes, an excuse to dress slutty, as D says. I think that the best costumes address, in some way, our anxieties or our secrets. Are we brave enough? Are we misfits? Can we let the world see our quirks? What is death, or pain, or decay? We each have our own questions. Generic costumes, to include showing off that one has a corset, are a sort of dress-up uniform, risk free, joining in without revealing much, save for skin. Not quite the idea behind Halloween, Samhain, when the rational and irrational meet to dance.

I've long wanted to create a really good sea goddess outfit, convincing and constructed, one with fronds and wrecked ships.